5 April

RISSE: We Are All Immigrants Through TIme

by Jon Katz
We Are All Immigrants

Last week, a woman who lives in my town stopped me on the street and asked me why I was writing about refugees and immigrants. She said she was grateful to our president, “he is trying to protect us from people who are coming her to harm us.”

I wanted to cry when I heard this, this is the dark side of hiding, nobody who set foot in RISSE would think that or say it, all around me were good and loving people striving to work, live safely and better themselves. This is what America is all about for me.

“America was our hope,” my grandmother always said. “We had nowhere else to go.”

We are all immigrants through time, writes the acclaimed novelist Moshin Hamid in his very beautiful new book about the refugee experience, Exit West.

In the book Saeed and Nadia, a young couple in love, flee a country under siege from brutal radicalsts and travel through mystical doors to Greece, London, and then California. It is the story of the refugee experience, in a sometimes brutal world in transition.

I read it before I went to visit the refugee children and adults who cram the offices of RISSE,  the Refugee and Immigrant Support Services of Emmaus Church in Albany, N.Y., to learn English,  help with their paperwork, look for jobs and give their children safe and nurturing day care.

The main office of RISSE was set aflame and destroyed by arsonists last year, others slashed all of the tires on their vans. They have rebuilt their offices, they never even thought of quitting. They take care of refugee children while their parents work, teach people English, show them how to find work, handle money, do their paperwork, get through school.

It is, sadly, no longer a simple thing to go and photograph and speak with refugees and their children in modern America, where, increasingly, they hide from public view. It took months. They are sometimes afraid here now, sometimes made to feel unwelcome. I am grateful to have been given the opportunity to see this magical thing. If democracy dies in darkness, so does compassion.

My grandmother, a refugee who fled her homeland to come to America told me once that being an immigrant was like dying and being born at the same time. You lose everything she said,  and began all over again.

The world is in convulsion, and people are on the move, and we are all confronted with our own moral choice: do we help them and welcome them, or turn our backs and slam the door closed. Nobody at RISSE is a threat to us.

When I think of my grandmother, and the many other  refugees and immigrants I grew up with, I thought again that we are all immigrants through time, and when we forget that, or become disconnected from it by fear or leaders who exploit our fear, than all of us, every man and woman and child, will lose something precious to us.

It is loss and empathy that unites humanity, that brings a shared experience to every single human being. When we can no longer feel sympathy or refuse to acknowledge each other’s dignity, we bring heartache onto ourselves, we lose faith in the belief in humanity’s potential to build a better world.

We lost faith in ourselves, I saw the fear in that woman’s eyes, they were hollow and empty.

In Exit West, Saeed listens to the gunshots and bomb explosions and cries of pain and fear that were encircling him and destroying his life, and he wished he could do something for Nadia, “could protect her from what would come, even if he understood, at some level, that to love is to enter into the inevitability of one day not being able to protect what is most valuable to you.”

This is the sorrow of the refugee, and the hope, that they can protect the ones they love. If you talk to them, this is what they all say. They wanted to protect their sister, or brother, or son, or daughter.  And they had to let go of those they could not protect. To give them a chance. Mostly, it was too late to protect their parents and cousins and friends, most of whom stayed behind or were left behind, leaving swirling pools of guilt and sorrow.

The refugee cannot take everyone and everything with him or her, that is what makes the journey so desperate and fraught. There is so much sadness in their eyes, almost every one.

To flee and hide and tremble forever, they say, is beyond them. “At some point,” writes Hamid, “even a hunted animal will stop, exhausted, and await its fate…” So RISSE is where the refugees stop and gather, to give new birth to their lives and the lives of their children.  And to await their fate.

I  hope I see the fearful woman on the street again, I will invite her to come to RISSE and see the people our government is protecting us from, to see the smiles on the children’s faces, the yearning and hope of their parents.

We have nothing to fear from them, only from the parts of us that we have left behind or lost, the reminders of who we are or were. We are all immigrants through time. I don’t want my writing about the refugees to be all about money, but if you are so inclined, think about making a small donation to RISSE, they are touching so many lives in so direct and profound a way.

They need everything, and use every penny well.

They take Paypal and major credit cards. You can see my first RISSE photo album here.

 

5 April

Lake Bedlam

by Jon Katz
Lake Bedlam

We’ve never seen the water this high – the barn, the farmhouse and the feeders are on a rise, above the flooding (at least so far), but much of our fencing and pasture is under water, and the rear pasture and woods are completely cut off. The Gulley bridge is under a foot of water, heavy rains supposed to start this afternoon and into tomorrow.

5 April

Bedlam Farm Is Under Water. More Coming.

by Jon Katz
Bedlam Under Water

Much of our farm is under water this morning, the most extensive flooding we have ever had here. The Gulley Bridge is totally submerged, so are at least half of our pastures. Red may need a life vest if this goes on, and it will go on. The big snowmelt and heavy rains are swelling the rivers and streams, and an intensive rainstorm is predicted for tonight. Lulu’s Crossing is almost totally underwater now.

The people who built the farm knew what they were doing, the house and big barn are on a rise and bone dry. But at least 50 per cent of our pastures are under water. I had a dream last night that Simon, whose grave is where some of the water is rising, came up out of the ground. Lord.

5 April

On A Country Road. A Zorse?

by Jon Katz
A Brindle Horse?

Driving on a country road the other day, I stopped to take a photo of two horses grazing in this open field. As I got closer, I saw the striking and unusual markings of the horse, which actually appeared – from the stripes and mane – to be a kind of zebra or horse/zebra mix.

The mane and stripes suggest a zebra, the tail suggests a horse.

Looking online, I found information about “brindle” horses, horses with striping. I would guess this animal, quite dignified and interesting looking, was a cross between a horse and a zebra, and some people have said zebras are basically horses with stripes. It might be a Zorse, a cross between a zebra and a horse mare.

I didn’t expect to see this animal on a nearby country road, the image is certainly compelling. The truth is I have no idea

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